


A Blinding Rush

by Self_san



Series: When the Earth Kissed the Sky [9]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe-Gender Changes, Always-a-girl!Q, F/M, Sex, Shameless PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:25:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Self_san/pseuds/Self_san
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q loves sex. </p>
<p>No. Really, she does. </p>
<p>(And as it just so happens, so does Bond.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blinding Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, it took me a while, but I wanted it to read right. (Seeing as this, and the story before it are the ONLY times I have ever written anything that has to do with sex/having sex. SO.)
> 
> Thankyou so much to everyone who commented; it really keeps me going. 
> 
> Also, apologies to those of you who read the last story in a public place. Whoops. :)

Q tries not to mind, when Bond (headless of his ribs, the bastard) pulls himself up and over her, hands over her waist making her slide over the soft sheets until she’s under him completely, swallowed by the weight of his body and the length of his shadow.

He’s so warm, his heart beating so close, so viscerally real that Q takes a moment to close her eyes, every muscle in her body sliding loose and hot, a livewire snapping around her joints, pulling her down down down.

It’s incredible, and Q just _breathes_.

(With her eyes closed, it’s easier to ignore the fact that Bond is staring, that his eyes are bright and vivid and burning over her cheeks, her chin, her throat.)

Bond makes a noise, low in his throat, that sends a spike of heat right through Q’s stomach and _further_ , and she’s suddenly reminded that she hasn’t gotten off in what feels like a _thousand_ _years_ , if not more.

She shifts, blinking open her eyes, spreading her legs. Bond’s thigh is insinuated between her own, so close to her sex that she can’t not tilt her hips, rub, moan softly.

Bond makes a choked off noise, growly and deep and so utterly _him_ that Q has to swallow around the hunger.

She licks her lips, and Bond’s eyes follow her tongue.

Q catches a blur of a intense _something_ fly through his eyes, and then his mouth is on hers, biting and licking, sucking her tongue and lips into his, teeth clicking and breath roaring from him to her to him, and he’s consuming everything that she is, sucking all of her focus into a narrow beam of light that flashes around her head.

His hands are huge around her stomach, palms running up and down her ribs, and the calluses on his fingers are rough as he palms her breasts, and Q jerks in surprise, half-yelping, a stuttered laugh, and Bond swallows the sound in his mouth, drinking her down.

His hands map over her chest, whispering over her collarbones, sweeping down over her stomach to cup her hips, spread her thighs wider as he leaves her mouth and travels down.

Q hisses when his teeth meet her breast, a fresh flush of heat swelling in her stomach as he laves each one, his hands rubbing up and down her legs where he can reach, soothing and possessive and heavy, all at once.

Q breathes through it, lightheaded, her hand in Bond’s hair and the other tangled in the sheets above her head, clenching and unclenching rhythmically as his tongue flicks out of his mouth to taste her skin, to lick a wide, wet line down her sternum, to circle her belly, his teeth pausing to nip at a hip bone before he dips even lower, his breath ghosting over her sex.

He pulls her knees apart, and Q blinks open her eyes just in time to meet his, bright and dark with lust, and then she is swallowing a scream as he spreads her open and _sucks_ , using his teeth and lips and tongue to leave her shaking, her thighs trembling around his shoulders.

He doesn’t bother taking his time, working furiously, his mouth burning, and it is _unbelievably_ sexy.

Q lets go, lets her eyes flutter shut again, her chin to tip back, her hips rock to the pace he sets, hungry for release. She feels hyperaware, the soft cotton of the sheets and the prickle of Bond’s stubble against her inner thighs, the half-pain half-pleased confusion that fogs around her brain.

Q has always loved sex, loved the slick of skin and sweat and the thin, thin line between what feels good and what doesn’t blurred into a mist that Q rides like a whore, eager and willing to tip over into the blinding rush that a partner provides.

And Bond is very, very good at sex.

And the thought of him, of her coming without a touch of his hand, so stunning in her mind, flicks a _switch_. It’s barely a tremble, and then, half-keening, Q is pulled under in a violent, tilting motion that sends her back arching and her toes curling in the comforter, her breath whistling out from her open lips.

Bond pulls away, the bottom half of his face wet and smiling, and Q pulls him up by his hair to taste herself in his mouth, boneless and groaning and her heart throbbing in the lower-half of her lean body.

Yes, Q thinks, as she relaxes back and lets Bond lay atop her, feeling dwarfed by his weight and loving it, Bond is good at sex.

Very, _very_ good at sex.


End file.
